


Stolen Moments

by oranjeguice



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection, Vignettes, after season 2 and i really want to see this on the show, best friends and lovers type beat, otis and maeve being soft, technically AU but if it doesn't happen in the show i'm suing, this is equally as bad as my first fanfic please ignore, we need more otis and maeve scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oranjeguice/pseuds/oranjeguice
Summary: One-shots of Otis/Maeve while they date at Moordale
Relationships: Otis Milburn/Maeve Wiley
Comments: 61
Kudos: 91





	1. A Place We Can Always Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve takes Otis to a place that means a lot to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write this while procrastinating writing my other story? Perhaps ;) But as much as I loved season 2, the lack of Otis/Maeve scenes was despicable. So, to make up for that, I wrote this scene that came to me. Title is from the album 'A Place We Can Always Go' - Grady

“Come on, dickstain, I want to show you something,” Maeve tells Otis. They’re sitting in her caravan, a lazy night for the both of them involving order-in pizzas, scabby queen, and laying on the couch. It was routine now. Sometimes it would be Maeve’s ‘van, sometimes it was Otis’s home. It didn’t matter what they did, as long as they were together. 

“Right now? It’s late out, and there are thousands of potential threats late at night. Do you know the chances of being kidnapped at night are heightened by 50%? And that’s not including the chance of being assaulted or…” Otis rambles.

Maeve pushes herself off the comfortable position that is Otis’s lap and turns around to face Otis. She leans in and smiles, pulling in Otis for a kiss. Otis is surprised from his momentous rant session, but responds quickly, smiling into it. 

“The waffling is getting boring quick, dickhead.” Maeve whispers against Otis’s lips. There is a goofy smile on her lips that is getting habitual lately when she’s around Otis.

“Oh yeah? I remember telling me something different in bed last night?” he retorts, a smirk across his face.

“Shut up, come on, it’ll be fine. I’ll be your knight in shining fake leather.” she winks and drags Otis across the couch, pulling him up. His long legs drag behind him, and Maeve laughs.

“As much as I love your enthusiasm to reverse traditional gender roles, don’t you think it’s a little late to be roaming outside?” Otis protests half-heartedly. It’s not like he can say no to anything she asks for. 

“Otis, do you remember our conversation about acting like teenagers? Living a little, perhaps?” she mocks.

“Fine,” he huffs. “But if we get dragged into a white van and tempted with lollies, I might leave you.”

“I know something sweeter that you like to eat,” Maeve flirts, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Otis blushes and turns a pink similar to the caravan’s tacky wallpaper. “I still think the societal perception that teenagers are creatures that constantly enjoy themselves and spend nights roaming the city is highly unrealistic, and we should be breaking that stereotype.”

“OTIS!” Maeve glares at him, her patience for him wearing out. Who is she kidding though, her tolerance for her dickhead would never wear out, she could spend an eternity listening to him talking about societal perception and breaking stereotypes if it meant spending time with him. But right now, there was a pressing matter at hand, and this urgent matter involved Maeve showing Otis a very special place. Still, sometimes her dickhead could be very thick.

“Yes, coming, got it, scary woman.” With that, Otis runs out of the caravan door and joins Maeve outside, looping her hand in his.

* * *

“How much longer?” Otis whined. They were walking on the street, fingers entwined, gazing at the sky. There wasn’t much to look at though, it was a particularly gloomy and cloudy night, and the usual stargazing that the duo did was thus unfeasible. 

“We have to make a stop somewhere first,” Maeve replies and turns into the brightly lit village store. She saunters through the aisles, Otis following behind her like a lost puppy. She reaches for the shelf and stealthily grabs a bottle of tequila and stuffs it in her purse. From the back, Otis releases a few squeals of objection. 

“Maeve, I can pay for that!” Otis grumbles. His conflicting morality but will to live more “openly” were fighting internally.

“Otis, how many times are we going to have this conversation? Life’s too fucking short.” Maeve turns around and smiles sweetly at him. “Live a little muppet!”

“I don’t see the correlation between committing petty theft of cheap alcohol and living your life to the fullest. Also, aren’t you a nihilist?” 

“Well, the universe fucking owes me, so fuck it.” Maeve approaches the counter and grabs a packet of cigarettes. After slapping a couple of pounds towards the cashier, she drags Otis out the tinkling door before he can give them away. 

The chilly night breeze hits them as they step outside, and Maeve pulls out the bottle, expertly opens the cap, and takes a swig. She hands the bottle over to Otis, nudging him in the shoulder. He quickly rejects, vigorously shaking his head, “Absolutely not, I think we’ve both seen the perils drunk Otis brings. He’s basically a threat to national security.”

“Otis, this conversation is getting old really fast, it’ll be fine, I’ll babysit you.” 

“Alright, but if I start dancing a jig, it’s not my fault,” Otis relents and grabs the bottle and chugs a good portion down. He immediately chokes and stops in the middle of the road, hacking, and coughing. Maeve lets out a laugh and stops, giving him a few pats on his back, catching him as he bends down to rest his arms on his knees.

“Try hard,” she chokes out between giggles.

Otis flips her off and finally stands up. Maeve feigns shock and raises her hand to cover her mouth, “Is that a trick from my book, the audacity Milburn?”

“Where are we going exactly?” Otis asks, changing the conversation, knowing he’s playing a losing battle.

“That’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see,” Maeve responds, winking. She grabs the bottle of alcohol from him and takes a large gulp. 

They laugh as they walk down the deserted streets, the alcohol slowly kicking into their systems. Maeve suddenly stops and looks over at Otis, “We’re here.”

“You brought me to the… primary school?” Otis asks, confused. The old building is dark and almost haunted looking in the night sky, looming in their presence. However, there is something nostalgic about its appearance. 

“Mhmm, I brought you to the primary school. More specifically, the playground,” Maeve turns and flips her hair, and walks towards the lawn. Otis follows behind her, the familiar route of the brick path coming back to him from the time he spent here as a child. They follow the paved stones to the back of the building where the playground stood. Beyond the playground, there was a forest, which now that Otis thinks about is a significant safety hazard. They both stop and look at the sight in front of them, the humongous jungle gym, the monkey bars, and the enormous slide wrapped around it all. 

Maeve approaches the configuration and swiftly climbs to the top of the structure, and sits on a landing built on the summit. Momentarily, Otis’s fear of heights kicks in, and he is about to comment on the danger of the position Maeve is in, but Maeve predicts it and teases him instead. “It’s not that bad dickstain, I promise you won’t fall off. I’m babysitting you remember?”

Otis sighs and relents. The tequila had loosened him up, so he decided that he might as well climb up. His first few attempts are a complete fail, and his long legs sway helplessly in the air, stuck in the bars. Maeve notices and laughs, her head thrown back and her hair flying in the wind. Otis retorts, “I’m delighted that you find my struggles amusing,” 

“You really are a muppet, aren’t you? Weakling,” Maeve manages to say between snorts.

“I am NOT weak,” Otis huffs. 

‘Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. Oh my gosh, Eric is going to love these pictures,” Maeve pulls out her phone and starts recording Otis’s feeble tries.

“I thought I was supposed to be the mean one while drunk.” Otis sighs, and finally, he pulls up his body and joins Maeve on the top of the slide. The space is small, so Maeve moves and squeezes onto Otis’s lap. He wraps his arms around her and places the bottle of tequila in between them.

“Is there a reason you brought me to the primary school?” Otis asks tentatively. His voice is steady and even, masking emotion. He had guessed this place was special to Maeve, and he didn’t want to impose. He was still trying to find the delicate balance of getting to know the little pieces of her that she shared and slowly breaking her walls down, but he knew it was hard for her.

“Nope, no particular reason,” she flinches at the lie, but somehow the words that she wanted to voice didn’t come out. At times like these, she wishes he could read her mind, read every little thing that she wants to share but can’t express. Sometimes, he does precisely that, and it still shocks her, his emotional intelligence, at the fact of someone else knowing how your own body worked better than you did. 

“Alright,” he concedes at the lie, deciding that she will tell him when she is ready. He changes the topic and tells her a story instead.

“Did you know I threw up on this playground once?” He mentions to her. Otis feels Maeve squirm in his lap and stares up with a wicked smile and a look of appall.

“You did what?”

“I threw up on Violet Bridgers on this playground in Year 2.”

“OTIS? Spill the story now!”

“So it was Valentine’s Day, right? And, we had the stupid valentine exchange they did. You know, you swap shitty candies and homemade valentines. Violet was my unrequited crush of sorts. I was a guy in the corner, even back then, so I had no hope. Anyways, she came up to me on the playground and gave me her valentine and a hug. I was so shocked I threw up on her.”

Maeve cackles from below Otis, and they both enter fits of laughter. “That poor girl, Otis!”

“Yeah, it wasn’t my finest moment.”

“You don’t have that many fine moments.”

“You still love me, though.”

“I still love you, though,” Maeve confirms. It’s true. She loves his un-finest moments the most if she were being honest. When he’s being a complete geek going on about video games, she doesn’t understand, but still plays with him anyways. When he’s doing odd karate moves with Eric and when he’s listening to whale music before going to bed.

“So what other dickhead things did you do in primary school?”

Otis thinks about it and answers with a distant laugh. “So, in Year 1, while mom was going through her divorce with dad, she had _Used to Love Her_ by the Guns N’ Roses on repeat. I had the song stuck in my head, and one day I must have been singing it aloud in class. Mr. Patterson caught me, and we had a needless to say awkward conversation on why humming: _“I used to love her, but I had to kill her. She bitched so much, she drove me nuts”_ was not appropriate.

And so the night went on, sharing seemingly stupid things that they did as children. Maeve didn’t have many stories, _does burning yourself while attempting to make beans & toast while your mum is passed out on the couch in a drug-induced haze count? _She wonders. But she listens to Otis anyways. She listens to his happy memories of baking with his mum on rainy days, binging Julia Roberts dramas on TV, and family vacations in Europe. She’s envious, so so jealous of these memories that she doesn’t have, but part of her is glad for Otis, thankful for the happy moments he’s given her in the short span of knowing each other. The tequila and stories warm her; Otis’s arms enveloped around her are cozy, and snug and she feels at peace. It’s lifting even, regular, comfortable, something people her age are accustomed to. 

“I lied,” she blurts suddenly. 

“Huh?” Otis mutters, confused.

“I lied about the reason I brought you here,” she confesses. She sighs, now that she’s started, she doesn’t know what to say, how to explain the hurricane of emotions that rage inside her.

“You did?” Otis questions. His voice is level, without emotion, and Maeve loves him for it. She loves the lack of judgement, the open way his mind approaches every subject. It’s safe and secure, a safety blanket for Maeve.

“Primary school was the uncomplicated part of my life, I guess. It was safe and… simple?” She struggles to find the words to describe what she’s trying to explain. _For a writer, you sure are scarce for words,_ she thinks. The irony amuses her. 

“It was easier back then. It was easier knowing or not knowing why mum was passed out on the couch or never there. It was easier not knowing why I had to steal gas canisters from Cynthia. It was easier not knowing why the people talked about me behind my back, why they whispered mean things. So much of humankind is focused on discovery, knowledge. I think we fail to realize that the unknown is liberating.” She repeats it, like testing the power the words hold, “The unknown is liberating.” 

She exhales and turns her attention over to Otis. She has his unwavering focus, the blue crystals that are his eyes piercing in the dark. He seems to ponder on what she said and replies, 

“What you don’t know makes you stronger?”

Maeve gives a chuckle and responds, “Something like that.”

They turn and look at each other, a comfortable silence enveloping them. She loves him for moments like these, moments of seeming emptiness made pleasant by his presence. It’s odd, she thinks, how someone’s mere existence can have such an effect, but Maeve has decided that she’ll leave these small details, the overthinking of these scenarios to Otis.

She continues, “This place embodies that unknown. I remember coming up on this same landing in primary school with a book and feeling normal. Not worrying about paying rent, paying bills, or going to get my next meal. It was my connection to freedom. After everything took for the worse, this place was a reminder that things could be normal. It’s a place where I can always go.” 

_Damn the stupid alcohol._ She’s definitely said too much. She guesses that Otis is going to get up now, that’s he going to run, that surely, _surely_ , he doesn’t want to deal with someone this broken who comes to a stupid primary school playground for comfort. But, as she is going to learn in the next few years, or perhaps for the rest of her life, Otis stays. The skinny arms wrapped around her tighten, and she can feel Otis’s lips brush against her hair. 

She looks down below, spotting the swing set, which was swaying, almost lazily in the night breeze. Memories flash before her eyes, coming to the playground during recess, a battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ , her legs dangling from the top of the slide. She remembers how it feels, the flickering eyes that judged her from far, categorizing her, putting her in a little box in their head: a box labeled outcasts, misfits, people to avoid. Even back then, back when she had little solace, she knew she was different, unlike the children in her grade, who liked to climb up the monkey bars and wore sparkly outfits and had matching backpacks and lunchboxes. She remembers coming here after midnight, sneaking out of her caravan, pepper spray in one hand, a classic novel she picked up from the library in the other. She remembers getting distracted, looking at the stars instead. The stars—that wouldn’t fix her problems, wouldn’t fix the economy, wouldn’t fix the world—but how insignificant, how useless her issues seemed in the vastness of the universe.

There was an air of nostalgia that the playground held, a magic in the air. For though primary school was hard, she still had friends back then, she still had a sense of innocence, an inner voice that maybe the world was good. She sighs and realizes this is what the playground embodies; her want to turn back time and perhaps feel that freedom again. Would it be childish to call this her _Happy Place?_ Her thoughts are fleeting, and she turns her attention back to Otis, who has kept his silence.

“I’m sorry if I turned this night depressy,” she mutters. She tries to lighten the mood by adding a laugh, but it comes out dry and airless. She steals the forgotten bottle of tequila from Otis’s hands and takes a chug.

“An unfortunate side effect of Maeve and alcohol.” Otis jokes.

He adds, this time softly, “Thank you for telling me that.” He turns his gaze towards Maeve, trying to make out her soft brown eyes in the dark. They are almost impossible to distinguish in the cloudy night, but he spots them and gives her a faint smile. He’s truly glad that she shared this little part of her, of a place that clearly means a lot to her. 

Maeve pushes herself off of Otis’s legs and climbs off the landing to the slide below. She slides down, her hands in the air, a “ _Wheee_ ” releasing from her mouth, a grin on her face. The mellow part of the alcohol was kicking in now, and Otis followed suit. He got stuck at the end of the slide, though, and Maeve started giggling until the small chuckles turned into a full-on laughing fit. Otis followed, and they both bend over, their laughter ringing in the night.

* * *

They’re walking back to Maeve’s caravan now. Maeve can hear Otis telling his mother that he’s staying at Maeve’s caravan tonight, and she listens to Jean haggling Otis from the other side. After several reminders of using adequate protection, and respecting boundaries, Otis has hung up, grunting as he disconnects the call. 

“Make sure to respect my boundaries tonight, Otis.” Maeve teases.

Maeve laughs as Otis complains, “She is despicable!”

“You will not be saying anything about Jean, she is the best. You’re just jealous, your mother is more iconic than you.”

“Great, so now both of you are teaming up on me!” Otis grumbles.

Maeve shivers as a breeze passes by, and she rubs her hands up and down her forearms, a feeble attempt to calm her goosebumps. She finds an opportunity to poke fun at Otis, “Are you going to make me ask for your jumper this time, oh chivalrous one?”

“I met yell, ‘I’m a virgin,’ watch out!” Otis replies, a twinkle in his eyes. 

He removes the jumper he was wearing and hands it over to Maeve. He was already wearing another layer inside, prepared as he was, so he would be fine in the cold. 

“Does this one have Nutella on it?” She asks as she shrugs the sweater over her shoulders while Otis rolls up the sleeves.

“No, I think this one was the one I spilled strawberry jam on,” Otis replies sarcastically.

“Do all your jumpers enjoy eating breakfast spreads? Am I going to get one with marmite next time?”

Otis stops and pretends to think about it. “No, but I think I might have one with peanut butter on it.”

As they wander through the town, teasing and joking with each other, Maeve reflects on something she said earlier — that the playground was a place where she can always go. As the years go by, Maeve scratches that thought. She realizes instead that Otis was the place where she can always go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have other ideas for little one-shots like this so if you’d like to see those, let me know! As always, thank you for reading! :)


	2. Small Smiles That Can Fix the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve & Otis have a study session at Otis's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, these one-shots are so much easier to write? I’m really liking writing these, and I hope you guys like reading them as well! :)

Maeve has a cigarette stuck in between her teeth, her fingers twirling around the butt. She’s inside, sitting on Otis’s bed to be precise, so lighting it was out of the question. However, the familiar feel of the tube and the pungent smell of nicotine was reassuring, calming even, so it stayed inside her mouth. She was trying to quit the habit anyways — on Otis’s insistence, and if she was being honest, the idea of black lungs wasn’t appealing to her anyways.

In front of her sat her biology textbook that was receiving a death glare from Maeve. She’s tried again and again to read over the concepts in the book, but the words seem to escape her. Not only is she distracted, the topic just does not sit in her head. _Who the fuck even needs to know about mitosis anyways?_ She grumbles internally. However, a bigger, scared part of her brain is thinking about the massive binder of material that Ms. Sands had just handed to her today. The folder was filled to the brim with brochures, pamphlets, and information material about local and international universities that Ms. Sands thought would be beneficial for Maeve. 

Although she was touched by the gesture, looking at the binder’s sheer size had caused Maeve a mini panic attack. Until now, university was something far off in the distance, like a light at the end of the tunnel. Maeve had avoided thinking about it, focusing on the aptitude scheme, writing, and her relationship with Otis instead. Early on in her life, she discovered that dreaming for the future was something she did not deserve, something she can’t fathom. It was reserved for people who lived in big mansions, and stable homes, not shitty caravan inhabitants like her. 

But hope, unfortunately, cannot be controlled, as Maeve realized. It blooms like a wildflower between concrete cracks inside of you, and before you know, it overtakes your entire body. For as frightened as she is to open the folder, she is hopeful as well. Here is her key, her portal, to get out of the shithole that is Moordale.

At the moment, she elects to focus her energy on the biology textbook looming in front of her. _Stupid fucking biology._ To her immense frustration, her grade had dropped to an A in the class, ruining her A* streak that she had in every other class. Though it was a minor drop, one that could be easily fixed, it made her fearful. The A-levels were at brink, and Maeve was panicking over every single small detail. The A-levels were her final chance, the last opportunity, the finishing puzzle piece for the extensive portfolio she’d created to submit to universities — on Ms. Sands and Otis’s urging — and she could not afford to mess up. She hated her slim chances, how everything she presented had to be perfect, how she had no room for mistakes, how she had to maintain an excruciatingly flawless record, and a streak of A*, while others could get by with money, and C’s.

She drops her cigarette and leans back onto the bed’s headboard. Otis was sitting on his desk, doing his own review on calculus, deep in thought over some math problem. A corner of her mouth perks up as she watches the git furrow his brow and bite the end of his pencil. She often found herself at his place these days, since the caravan provided no heat in the winter. _She was not a charity case,_ she had pointed out to Otis several times, but he had never made her feel like one. He had simply stated that she was always welcome at his place, and that was it. 

Right now, she is interrupted from her thoughts by a frustrated whine from Otis, “Who even thought that inventing calculus was a good idea?”

She replies amused, “Issac Newton and Gottfried Leibniz.”

He turns around to face her, his long legs hanging off the edges of his chair. “How in the world did you know that?"

“I had a ‘read biographies about old white men’ phase in Year 3. Worst 2 months of my life, they all had a superiority complex,” Maeve responds, faking a gag.

“Do you have a kink for old white men? I did see you staring at that cashier at the mall the other day…,” Otis teases her, his lips conforming into a cheeky smile.

“I really must have one to be dating you,” Maeve responds sarcastically, and shoots a wink over at Otis. Otis raises his hands above his head as in mock surrender and swivels back to solving and analyzing quadratics.

Maeve exhales and returns her focus on her cigarette, staring intently at it now. She wants to share her worries, voice all her concerns to Otis, and hope to hear his words of calm reassurance, but as usual, she feels too nervous about doing so. Her brain recoiled at the words _expressing her feelings,_ but there’s a part of her that wants to scream it at the top of her lungs. Maeve has realized, to her horror, that once you start telling people things, you can’t stop. It’s like a drug, once you get the initial rush, you can’t stop until you get the dopamine flow again and again. She wants to listen to his soothing tones, perhaps he’ll stroke her hair, and she’ll lay against his chest like she had when she’d cried after she shopped her mum. For once, she wants someone to tell her it will be fine.

She slams the textbook in front of her, hoping that Otis would notice and magically read her thoughts and comfort her. But, she is dating the most ignorant and dense dickhead in the whole world, so of course, he doesn’t notice. Maeve pushes herself off the bed and paces around the room, wondering if he’ll pay attention to this. He doesn’t, _how surprising,_ and she wonders if bringing a few pots and pans from the kitchen and banging them against his head would gain his observation. 

After taking a few laps of the room, Maeve watches as Otis gets up, stretches his legs, and grabs his hot chocolate mug from his desk. He turns around and finally realizes Maeve’s nervous strides around the room. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, concerned. _How long had she been walking like this?_ There was an intense look of concentration on her face, and she was clasping and unclasping her hands, a cigarette stuck in between her fingers.

“Huh, yeah, I’m fine,” she nods distractedly towards his direction.

 _You are obviously not okay,_ Otis thinks, walking towards her. He puts a hand on her shoulder, and she jumps, startled by the touch. He tries to read the look in her eyes, but it’s blank. The mask she wears so well, the walls she is extremely used to putting up are raised like a drawbridge, and he sees past that as well. _Fuck, how long has she been like this?_

“Are you sure?” he asks tentatively.

“No, I’m not fine, Otis, I don’t understand stupid fucking mitosis,” she responds. This time she has a plastered smile on her face, as she’s telling him a joke. _Oh, Maeve,_ he thinks.

“Maybe I could help?” he asks sheepishly. 

“If I don’t bite your head off before we get to anaphase, I’ll owe you a million pounds.”

“Challenge accepted,” he says with a cheeky grin. They sit down on the bed, backs lying against the headboard, as Otis grabs the textbook and goes over the concept again. His voice is calm and soothing, unlike the gibberish she felt she was reading on pages of her book. By the time Otis is done, Maeve is sure she could become a biology teacher, but she is distracted, her thoughts drifting back to her earlier concerns.

“Maeve? Got it?” Otis asks, peering over at her.

“Huh, yeah, I guess I owe you a million pounds.” Maeve jokes. She says it sincerely, but Otis can see that her mind is elsewhere.

“Are you sure you’re good?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, why do you keep asking me that?”

“I don’t know, you look a little out of it? I am a therapist, after all, your vibe seems a little off.”

“My vibe?” Maeve asks Otis, amused, raising her eyebrow and turning to look at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Where’d you pick that up from dickhead?”

“I think I heard Adam using that one. You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“For that matter, you are an underage, illegal sex therapist, also uncertified. And I guess I am a little out of it.” Maeve sighs.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Otis replies, continuing the teasing banter.

“You’ll have to give me at least a pound if you want to listen to any of the genius ideas brewing in my head.” Maeve scoffs, she’s using one of her coping mechanisms — not a healthy one for that — this one involved her continuing this seemingly aimless chatter so that she could avoid talking about her actual feelings. It wasn’t working on Otis, _of course, it wouldn’t,_ because he sees right through it, and doesn’t buy into it for a second. Maeve knows sooner or later she’ll have to tell him if not he would keep prodding. 

“I just — too much is going on. You know those rides they had at the fair? The spinning teacups or whatever? I feel like I’m on those fucking teacups, and I’m spinning around and around, and I can’t get off.”

She shifts her position so that she’s laying on Otis’s lap instead of his shoulder. The blue of his eyes is mesmerizing from this angle, today they have chosen to be vivid turquoise. She leans upwards to kiss him. It’s slow and sweet, the curl of his bottom lip reassuring her. She wants to stay like this forever, suspended in time, where for a moment she can forget everything and anything, just the feel of his hands wrapped around her back, the minty smell of his breath on her tongue. He is smart though, he’s way too fucking intelligent to fall into one of her stalling techniques, where she distracts him through kissing him. It was a good tactic, he had to admit, but one he wasn’t going to fall for.

“Do these teacup thoughts have names?” he inquires, gazing at her, tracing the features on her face with the pad of his fingertip.

“Oh hell yeah, the fucking A-levels, the binder of university pamphlets that Ms. Sands gave me today, the future in general, my shitty life… should I go on?”

“Oh, that’s a lot of you going on,” Otis says tentatively. Maeve groans. She can almost see it, she thinks, entertained: boyfriend Otis hat off, teenage therapist hat on.

“Otis, I don’t want a therapy session. I was kinda hoping for a talk with my boyfriend.”

“Your said boyfriend is also a teenage sex therapist.”

“A very illegal and uncertified one at that if I remember correctly,” Maeve retorts. 

“I’m anything you want me to be, I could be a soundboard, or perhaps even a void, I didn’t know you were into roleplay though.” Otis answers, a smile on his lips. 

Where does she begin? In between the raging storms that are her thoughts, and the increasing amount of panic attacks that she’s been getting just thinking about the future, there is a lot for her to scream in the void. She doesn’t say anything, though, because to her alarm, she starts bawling into his chest. It’s been a while since she’s had a good cry, and she’s so used to bottling up her emotions, that it’s a relief. She can feel Otis rubbing circles up and down her back, whispering soft affirmations against her body that are drowned out by the sound of her own sobs. _This, this is everything she wanted and more._ After a horrendous thought in which she realizes she’s probably streaking her eyeliner, she rubs away further tears and looks at Otis with a watery smile. He returns a small one of his own, and for a second, _everything is fine._ Yes, she’s stressed and crumbling inside, but for a moment, these small smiles can fix the world. 

“Well, that was unexpected.” Otis says in a teasing tone. He’s not being malicious or anything, she knows, but it’s just a way for them to lighten the mood. She punches his shoulder, mockingly, and settles into his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He hands her a couple of tissues from his bedside table, and she graciously takes them and wipes away the rest of her ruined make-up.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, and he relents, knowing she will when she’s comfortable. For now, they huddle under the covers, and Maeve grabs Otis’s hand and lays it across her waist, and as they both fall into a peaceful sleep, she knows that for right now, it’s enough. The world might be spinning in endless circles around her, but the only thing she’s ever needed to ground her is lying right next to her, the warmth emitting from his body and the soft “I love you” he whispers just before dozing off is enough. And when they both wake-up, and discuss universities over Jean’s hot chocolate, Otis helps her color code them and arrange them by scholarship, and before she knows it, the big, scary binder has turned into her exit ticket, her freedom bus out of Moordale. The A-levels still scare her, and so do a thousand other things, and perhaps the spinning will never stop, but for right now, the small smiles they exchange with each other can fix the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did the ending seem abrupt? I didn’t really know how to finish it, maybe I’ll fix it sometime later. I don’t like this one as much as my first one, but I hope you guys still enjoy it. I really wanted to write a comfort fic because these two are just so soft. Thank you for reading! :)


	3. Wanna Be Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Otis and Maeve's first date, Otis presents Maeve with a grand gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song "I Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys

“We can go upstairs once I’m done with the dishes,” Otis states, getting up from the dining table and collecting Maeve’s plate with him as he walks to the sink. It was his first “date” with Maeve, and in true Otis fashion, he had invited her over for dinner, overthinking every step in the process. It was just the two of them, no Jean, Otis had wanted to keep it “chill” lest there was a potential that Maeve would run away from his house as well.

“I can help,” Maeve offers, as she walks up to the sink and stands next to Otis.

“No, it’s fine; it wouldn’t really be very chivalrous of me if I made you wash dishes on our first date.”

“Shut up and give me the cloth, Milburn,” Maeve smirked as she held out her hand expectantly.

“Right, yes, sorry, scary woman… wash or dry?”

“Dry.” 

“Well, hopefully, you’re not that way in bed,” Otis responds, grinning like an idiot while handing her the towel.

“I see you’re getting bold, muppet,” Maeve punches Otis in his shoulder.

Otis laughs and walks over to the speaker on the counter and puts on some jazz as they both settle into a familiar routine of washing, cleaning, and drying. Maeve reflects on how intimate the ritual felt, although she ridicules herself. “It’s just doing dishes, idiot,” she thinks. Her thoughts wander to the enormous window in front of the kitchen sink, illuminated by the minimal light from the stars peeking out from the evening fog. There was a cosy feel in the atmosphere, one that her own caravan lacked, and one that Maeve craved. She was obsessed with the view from the window; the dark green forest, the river, everything about the view was fascinating. She’s interrupted from her stare by a few rude splashes of water from Otis.

“You make a terrible dish dryer,” Otis jokes as he dumps more water onto her.

“And what about it?” Maeve argues, getting back at Otis by pouring water on him as well.

“Hey!” Otis yells, retaliating with a splash of his own.

“Dickhead.” 

Before they know it, they’re having a full-blown water fight, the counter and their clothes drenched in the soapy water. They’re both bent over, laughing and clutching their stomachs, tears streaming down their face, and dishes long forgotten. Maeve tries to get up and collect herself, but Otis splatters water on her again, and the cycle continues. When they’ve both exhausted themselves, they slump against the counter and slide down to the kitchen floor, remaining giggles escaping their mouth.

After completely recovering from his laughter fit, Otis stands up and cleans up the soap water on the counter, muttering, “Better clean this up before mum comes home and has a fit.”

“Where even is she?” Maeve asks as she aids him in wiping the surface.

“Drinks with Maureen. Adam’s mom.”

“Oh? Maeve responds with a smirk.

“Yeah, why what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just unexpected.” She leans against the table, staring at Otis, who was still desperately mopping up the water.

“I guess you could say we’re unexpected too,” Otis retorts.

“Ha.” They walk up the stairs; Maeve smiles as she sees Otis skip two at a time, his long legs gliding up the stairs elegantly. Or as elegant Otis could be anyway.

They reach the landing, and Maeve follows Otis’s lead towards his room. It was her first time there; she hadn’t gone upstairs at the rough night that was the party. She was intrigued by what she would find there. Maeve loved intimate spaces like those; she loved reading people from afar, observing their spaces, and the area they felt most comfortable in. She’d gotten used to noticing people as such, from the corner, far from where she herself could hide from being judged.

Otis turns the door open, and Maeve soaks in the features of his room. She was already in awe of the house but looking at Otis’s room made her fall in love with the house further, if that was possible. Her eyes roamed to the enormous window right in front of her, encapsulating the room in it’s cool light that entered. She rushed over to glance out the window, realizing the massive record collection that stood right beside it. Mesmerized, she temporarily ignored the window and turned to the bookshelf to shift through the records, Otis long forgotten. 

She smiles as she sees an unused record of Pusssy Whipped by Bikini Kill, understanding that he probably bought it for her. Otis blushes behind her as he registers her thought process. Maeve peeks over at him and does the half-smile thing signature to her, and Otis relaxes. Yet, she could never give up the opportunity to tease Otis, and thus begins, 

“Your lack of punk records is appalling dickhead. I might have to reconsider dating you,” she smirks and looks back at Otis, sitting on the edge of his bed, observing her.

“Well, I’m sorry if I care about the wellbeing of my ears.” he retorted. 

“Like seriously, what is this?” She pulls out a record with a cheesy beach cover. “Soft wave sounds to fall asleep to,” she mocks. “And this? Whale ambiance for teenagers?”

“It helps me fall asleep!” he argues and comes up and snatches the cover from her.

“I could help you do that,” Maeve grins cheekily and reaches up to kiss Otis. 

“Are you implying that you’re that bad at sex that I’ll fall asleep?” Otis responds, his voice low and deep, his breath heavy against Maeve’s face. 

Maeve pushes him away and glares at him, “Watch it, dickhead.”

“Anyways, we’re going to have to do something about this collection,” Maeve notes.

“Speaking of that, I have a surprise for you,” Otis states smugly. 

“A surprise?” Maeve questions and raises her eyebrows.

“A surprise.” Otis nods thoughtfully. “I will be right back. Do not climb out the window, please.”

Maeve directed her middle finger towards Otis and a smirk as he walked out of his door. She wandered around the room further, smiling as she saw pictures of Eric and Otis taped to the wall. She wondered if he would put pictures of them together on the wall. She saw the destroyed closet on the left and sat puzzled, pondering on it’s condition. It was very un-Otis-like, was her conclusion. But, there was much to look at in the room, that she soon forgot about that predicament. Her eyes next focused on Otis’s desk, and she walked over and picked up trinkets laid messily on the tabletop.   
She’s just about to look at a card from Eric when she hears the door slam behind her, and she turns around to face Otis. Her jaw drops to the ground as she processes what he’s wearing and the state of his clothes.

Otis had substituted his usual jeans, t-shirt, jacket for a leather jacket, heavy black eyeliner, knee-high black boots, and a metal chain. In his hand, he held an acoustic guitar, which juxtaposed the costume heavily, but Maeve could not care because she was still having a hard time sorting out Otis’s outfit. 

She marched up to Otis, stopping right in front of him. She thinks she was about to say something, but she is dumbstruck by the sight in front of her once again. She doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry; instead, she stops herself and manages a weak, “Otis?”

“One second, Maeve. Let me just get this record in.” Maeve catches a glimpse of the cover, a black background with an AM waveform in front of it. AM, by the Arctic Monkeys, she recognized the album. 

Around her, she hears the opening drum beats and suspended cymbal to I Wanna Be Yours echo around the room. She grins as she spots Otis picking up the guitar and strumming the opening chords, although the song explicitly did not involve any guitars. She doesn’t know if the situation was made to be comical or if it was indeed serious, and to not be cruel, Maeve tries to keep a straight face until Otis bursts out laughing. She sighs a sigh of relief and joins him as he reaches towards her hand to ask for a dance.

“A dance, my lady,” he asks, with a face as straight as he could keep at the moment. Maeve accepts as the opening ballads to the chorus chime in in the background. She latches her hand, one on Otis’s shoulder and another on his waist, as they both try to keep in their giggles. They glide as ungracefully as possible across the room, purposefully out of time to the song. As the middle parts of the song kick in, they sober up and actually manage to get a few serious steps. 

Maeve relishes in the environment around her, the soft glow of the led lights in Otis’s room, the impeccable song choice, the warmth of Otis’s body and hands, the comfort of his smell. This was really nice, she thought. She could deal with this. She laughed to herself as she realized this was Otis’s grand gesture towards her, and she appreciated it much more than Jackson’s. The private-ness of the setting and the gesture itself was more suited to her taste than Jackson’s ever had been. She smiles as she looks up at Otis, but at the sight of his face, she has an urge to laugh again.

As the song comes to an end, they both collapse to the ground together, fits of giggles escaping both. 

When Maeve collects herself, she finally gets herself to ask, “What brought this on?”

“Well, since I technically haven’t asked you out yet, and it usually takes grand gestures to make that happen, I figured this would work. Which leads me to the question, Do you want to go out with me, Maeve Wiley?”

“No….” she smiles mischievously. “Only if I get to paint your nails… black, and please, for the love of God, I need to fix your eyeliner.”

Otis pretends to think about it, “You’re an evil one, Maeve, but… deal, I guess.” 

“Did you know you’re an idiot?” Maeve asks sarcastically.

“Hmm,” Otis nods. 

“I mean an acoustic guitar with a punk outfit? Which, by the way, do you play?”

Otis turns bright red and replies, “Yeah, kinda, it’s a long story.”

Maeve gets a glimmer and eye and prods Otis, “Do tell.”

“Um, no, um…” Maeve looks at Otis expectantly. “Fine, okay. Eric and I started a band when we were younger. Eric was the lead vocalist, and I was supposed to play the guitar.”

Maeve snorts, “I’m guessing you guys didn’t get far.”

Otis gives her a sideways look, “Clearly not.”

Maeve leans over and rests her head on his lap, “Well, I find this Otis very attractive… I don’t know, I might have fallen in love and shit.”

Otis bites on his lip as he tries to hide his smile, “Really? Because that’s how I feel about you. If I might say so myself, _I just wanna be yours,_ ” 

Maeve laughs and sacks him in the shoulder, “Dickhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was on the shorter end, but i'm having writer's block so it is what it is. i've had this idea for a while now and i didn't execute as well as i planned it to be so i'm sorry if this was incoherent, it was basically a thought dump. anyways, let me know what you guys thought, and thank you for reading! :)))


	4. The Moon is Always Female

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeve goes on a scavenger hunt with an unexpected ending.
> 
> Title is from the book, "The Moon is Always Female" by Marge Piercy. It's an amazing piece of feminist poetic literature, so I would recommend checking it out :) I think Maeve would have enjoyed it!

Maeve is interrupted from her English lecture by a ping from her phone. She had tuned Ms. Sands out anyway; she'd long gone over the work that was being explained, so she took her phone out from her tote bag and sneaked a peek. It was a message from Otis, and subconsciously, the corners of her mouth turned up.

  * Go to the toilet blocks after school; I have a surprise.



Only the git could use semicolons in a text, and only he could misuse them, Maeve noticed as she read the message. Thoughts of the lesson long gone from her mind, she instead pondered on the surprise that Otis promised in the text. She _hated_ surprises; he knew that; she'd faced way too many bad ones with her mum. But Otis, somehow, had the best ways to surprise her, sometimes shitty ways granted, but mostly the best. Her face frowned at the "toilet blocks" part of the message though. It had been ages since she'd visited that piece of filth, choosing to stick to the rooftop of the school or anywhere else where Otis took her to have her cigarette breaks. _What possibly could he want from her there?_ Her eyes glinted at the thought of doing it there with Otis, Aimee had mentioned it was good in the dirt, but she soon stomped that thought out; they were still taking it slow. 

After spending the rest of the class mulling over Otis's mysterious text, Maeve is interrupted by the ring of the school bell, signifying the end of the school day. She hurries out of class, barely mentioning thanks to Ms. Sands as she usually did, and walks to the toilets, finding them, to her surprise, vacant. She checked every stall, even behind the building, and there was still no sign of Otis. If it weren't the muppet's lifelong motto to be on time, she wouldn't have been this astonished, but Otis's tendencies to be punctual made Maeve question his appearance or lack thereof. After 5 minutes of waiting, as she grabbed her phone to text Otis, she stopped as her phone buzzed, indicating a message from Otis. She opens it and is faced by the cryptic words,

  * "Own your narrative."



At this instance, she finally decides to phone Otis and starts dialing his number. After a few rings, there is a buzz at the end and a robotic voice telling her that the number was unavailable, followed by Otis's voicemail to call him at a later time. She hangs up the call, intrigued, confused, and slightly frustrated. She opens her messages app again and texts Otis, asking, 

  * "What's going on? Where are you?" 



A few seconds later, a response comes through from Otis, stating,

  * "You're doing a scavenger hunt; the last location is the spot for our date."



Maeve quirked her eyebrows at his response. She typed back,

  * "What?"



Otis replied,

  * "Just go along with, please 🥺”



Maeve huffed. It wasn't like she could say no to him,

  * "Fine, what the hell does own your narrative mean, though?"



Otis answered, 

  * "It's your first clue."
  * "I have to go now, hope you figure it out… or not ;)"



With that, Otis left Maeve hanging, leaving her wondering what exactly "own your narrative" meant. She owned her narrative; she was literally the most expressive person at school; what the fuck did that have to with anything? Her mind wandered to the day she first became acquainted with Otis at this place, the odd circumstance that led them to the clinic, them dating, and everything in between. To think it all started with some viagra and an asbestos-filled toilet block. It's then when it hits her. "Own your narrative," How could she forget? It was what Otis had said to Adam during their first session. _But what did that have to do with anything here?_ She was at the location of the speech, but other than that, there wasn't much that hadn't happened that day. She paced up and down the aisle of stalls, cursing Otis under her breath for playing stupid games with her. Secretly, the idea of a scavenger hunt was growing on her; she'd never done fun activities like such in any of her previous relationships. She searched around the room, hoping for any visual clues around her. 

On instinct, she enters the stall Adam had locked himself into that day, the third one from the right. She scours the space for anything, lifting empty cigarette packs and discarded papers lying on the floor. She then moves on to the rusty garbage can attached to the stall's flimsy wall, sliding her fingers through the slot. Her fingers come across a smooth piece of paper, and she lifts it up and out of the bin. She is faced with a small white envelope, with her name engraved in Otis's loopy handwriting on the front. She smiles and uses her fingernails to pry open the envelope, and a brown piece of construction paper falls out. She turns the envelope upside down in hopes of finding something else, but it comes up empty, save for the piece of brown construction paper. She picks it up from the ground and scrutinizes it, inspecting for anything remaining on it. But after a thorough investigation, she finds it bare and brown, a regular piece of construction paper. She groaned aloud, cursing Otis. _Out of all the cute couple activities, the muppet came up with this?_ But Maeve was determined to solve the puzzle, and once she had set up her mind, there was no knowing who could stop her. 

For the time being, Maeve exits the grimy building, confident that nothing else was to be found there, and lights herself a cigarette to help her think. She notes her empty cigarette packet, making a mental note to stop at Brown's to pick up a pack sometime. _Brown's, Brown's. Fuck, that's it._ Maeve smirks, stomps the cigarette with her boot, and sets out to the Brown's Village Store.

* * *

Maeve is greeted at Brown's with the tinkling doorbell and a nod from the French exchange student behind the counter. _Raymond, no, Ryan, no Rahim, that's it._ Something went on between him and Eric, she knew, she meant to ask Otis, but with their newly established relationship and mended friendship and catching up in between, she'd barely had time to remember the little things as such. She'll ask him today if she finds Otis after this wild goose chase, she thinks, shaking her head. She roams up and down the aisles aimlessly, not exactly sure what she was searching for. She walks through the alcohol aisle, wondering if she should lift some for whatever Otis had planned tonight, when her phone rings. She opened it, seeing Otis's notification, who had sent a link to a youtube video. Maeve clicks on it, and on her phone's speakers, _Sugar Daddy,_ one of the themes from _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_ , starts blaring on full volume, which is met with a death stare from the middle-aged lady in the aisle beside her and an amused smirk from Rahim at the counter. She gives an apologetic glance to both, muttering a sorry and turning the volume down. 

The musical number plays without any significance, and Maeve doesn't find anything noteworthy in the clip. She tries to remember anything to do with Hedwig and the Angry Inch, but the only thing she could reminisce about was Eric's ramblings about them when the Moordale musical was coming up. Other than that, the only thing Maeve could recollect was Otis's costume from the day she ran away from Jackson's house. They had been at Brown's that day, the memory coming to her. _What had they gotten?_ Orange juice. Orange juice and that chocolate bar that Otis had tried and failed to steal. They'd shared it together while walking back to Aimee's house, Maeve recalls, smiling wistfully at the memory. She goes to the refrigerator, grabbing a pint of orange juice from the fridge and impulsively grabbing a bottle of alcohol from the shelves as well, and stuffs it into her tote bag. She stops by the chocolate bar aisle and takes two curly wurly's to go along with it. 

She reaches the counter, points towards a pack of Benson & Hedges, and slaps the orange juice and chocolate bars in front of her. Rahim was it, raised her eyebrows towards her, but wordlessly rings all the items up. 

"10 quid." He mentions solemnly when he looks up, still observing her. 

Maeve rummages through her purse and drops a couple of bills, stuffing her purchases into her bag, not wanting to waste an extra 10 pence on getting a paper bag. 

As she's heading out the door, she hears him calling out after her,

"Wait!" Maeve turns around to look.

"Otis told me to give this to you."

In his hand is a small white envelope, identical to the one she had found in the rubbish bin at the toilet blocks. She grabs it from him, murmurs a pleasantry, and sets out the door, stopping by the bench to sit down and open the envelope. On the front, she found the same haphazard script of Otis's handwriting, with her name etched on it as well, sealed tightly. She rips the envelope open, curious to what this one held. In her hands, a single slip of paper fell out. Written in Otis's penmanship was a poem,

_"Learning to love differently is hard,_

_love with the hands wide open, love_

_with the doors banging on their hinges,_

_the cupboard unlocked, the wind_

_roaring and whimpering in the rooms_

_rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds_

_that thwack like rubber bands_

_in an open palm._

_To Have Without Holding_ by Marge Piercy was the poem Maeve recognized. She also recognized when she had mentioned the poem; it was the first time she'd told Otis she loved him. It was hard, extremely hard for her to utter those words, so she'd just recited the poem, which was a much simpler task in her head. It was not a simple task, and in true fashion of their relationship, it ended comically; she'd absently said it while they were watching an episode from the Office, just blurted it out loud, leaving a perplexed Otis trying to process a soliloquy and David yelling at Neil. He'd paused the episode, and Maeve had come again, and when Otis finally got the significance behind it, he had given her one of his smiles and told her that he'd be ready to hear that from her whenever she was, and they'd gotten back to watching the Office, snuggled into each other.

A month later, Otis had told her countless times that he'd loved her, but she hadn't mentioned it once to him. There was never any pressure from his side, but Maeve always felt a surge of guilt when he casually muttered those three words. She folds the poem back into the envelope, not exactly sure what it meant, but set out towards her caravan, stumped with this clue.

* * *

Maeve unlocked her caravan, successfully avoiding Cynthia and Isaac on her trek to the trailer park. She walked inside and dropped her bag on the couch, heading to her bedroom to find her copy of _The Moon is Always Female,_ where the poem was from. She rummaged through her bed, lifting discarded clothes lying haphazardly and multiple jumpers, courtesy of Otis. It was times like these she wished she was organised like Otis. She checked her bedside table, sorted through the plethora of books left on the table. The irony of never finding things in her ant-sized caravan always struck her, but instead of being amused, she was frustrated at the moment. After ransacking her room apart, she moved on to the main room, tearing that one apart as well. She cursed and cursed some more, but finally, she found the blue cover of the book under the sofa; she flipped to the poem's page, and on top of the words, lay an envelope. She tore it open and out fell a piece of paper. Inside it stated,

_The Office, Season 4, Episode 3/4 , 34:22_

Maeve fumbled across the sofa for her bag and fished around for her phone inside. She opens the Netflix app, also courtesy of Otis, who had shared his account with her. Conveniently, the episode was at the top as she clicked on the show, and she thumbed through the episode to reach the specific timing. She watched as Dwight and Michael argued over which right to take, ending up in the lake, with Dwight yelling, "There is no road here."

Maeve smiles as she turns her phone off, pocketing it and the book. She knew exactly where to go.

* * *

Maeve trekked to the little quarry by the river, which Otis had shown her from his house's deck. It was a small inlet beside his home, the tiniest landing which would be missed unless you were looking for it. She ducked under the bridge, and soon enough, she found Otis next to the river, immersed in his phone, sitting on a blanket with a picnic basket on top of it. Maeve decided to poke some fun at Otis, considering the journey he had put her through to get here. She scurries behind him, squeezing the sides of his stomach, eliciting a yelp from Otis, which caused him to jump. Maeve began giggling at his shock, feeling satisfied at getting back at him.

"Maeve! You made it!" Otis exclaimed when he realized who had frightened him.

"Do you really think I was stupid enough to not?" Maeve asks, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

"No, no, I was just concerned, and we've never done this before…." Maeve smirks, amused as she watches Otis ramble.

"Anyways, how did you like the scavenger hunt?"

Maeve motioned Otis to get up, which he did. Then, she took her fist and gently punched him in the shoulder. 

"Ow, what was that for?" Otis whined.

"For making me go on a wild goose chase when you could have literally just told me to meet you at the quarry." Maeve retorted.

"But then it wouldn't have been as fun," Otis pointed out.

"Okay, okay, yeah, it was fun," Maeve admitted, raising her hands in mock surrender.

Otis gave her a smug look, and Maeve took a second to take her surroundings in. There was a humongous picnic basket to her right, accompanied by a portable record player as well as a bouquet. She was intrigued by the flowers but didn't say anything and instead asked Otis, 

"Why did you bring me here? Or more specifically, why did you make me hunt down a bunch of envelopes to come here?"

"I thought we could have a picnic, you know listen to some music, have some fun. Not that it seems like that word is in your dictionary." Otis teases.

"Watch it, you're already on a thin line for the spectacle you put on today," Maeve retorts, moving closer to Otis and laying down on his lap, to which Otis jumps again. They get comfortable, and they smile at each other, grins they couldn't contain, after not seeing the other the entire day. Maeve leans up to kiss him, and they do so for a while, long kisses with no goal, lazy, idle, and content. When they finally seem satisfied with their snogging, they separate, and Maeve starts setting the food out.

"What did you bring to eat?" Maeve asks. 

"Well, there's a charcuterie board…"

"Come again?" Maeve repeats, smirking. 

"A charcuterie board?"

“You mean charcuterie board.” Maeve corrects.

"Yes, that, that's what I said," Otis states plainly, frowning.

"No, you said, charcuterie," Maeve mocks, laughing.

"Okay, okay, grazing platter?" Otis rolls his eyes.

"Fancy aren't you, with your grazing platter," Maeve teases further.

"Fine, cheese and crackers, is that better?" Otis corrects.

"Much. What is that?" Maeve says with a straight face, pulling out a brown piece of crumbs that could have once passed as a cake.

"It's an angel food cake."

Maeve bites back a smile, her lips tugged on by her teeth, nodding as she goes along with Otis. 

"It's funny because…"

"No, I get it; it's hilarious."

"Oh?" Otis raises his eyebrows. "Can't a guy bake a cake in peace?"

"Not when it comes out looking like the devil food cake," Maeve snorts. "I mean, Aimee would be jealous of this masterpiece."

"Shut up. It tastes good, I promise. And I brought lemon bars too, and wotsits too, just in case."

"Burnt angel food cake, lemon bars, wotsits, a charcuterie board," Maeve emphasizes, "orange juice, and curly wurly's, what a lovely picnic."

"Only the best for you, m'lady," Otis responds, with the same tone of sarcasm Maeve had put on.

"I love it," Maeve comments, this time genuinely.

"Really?" Otis asks, shocked.

"I mean food and orange juice, as well as my favourite boy? What more could I ask for?" Maeve bats her eyelashes.

"A record player?" Otis mentions as he pulls out the portable record player from behind his back.

"A record player." Maeve nods. "Yes, a record player just brings all of this together."

Otis reached out to the picnic basket, pulled out a record, and attached it to the record player. Maeve noticed another record in the basket, but she couldn't see the cover. Soon, soft jazz tunes started playing. Otis smiled elatedly, 

"Not bad, for a picnic is this," Otis says, looking over everything proudly.

"Not bad at all," Maeve answers, smiling at his elatedness. 

They soon begin devouring the "feast" in front of them, Maeve comically holds the grapes from the grazing platter over her mouth, dangling across her lips. Otis notices and laughs,

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to act like you're my muse and write poetry about you?" 

"Are you saying that you're not writing poetry about me already?" Maeve teases.

"No…" Otis jokes.

"Oh, who is your esteemed muse then?" Maeve questioned.

"I thought we were reversing gender roles and shit?" Otis pointed out. "Shouldn't you be writing poetry about me, then?"

"You got me there, Milburn," Maeve laughs as she pulls out her notebook from her tote-back, semi-seriously jotting down words in her journal, the same one Otis had gifted her.

Otis got out his phone and started clicking pictures of Maeve, jokingly stating, "The best I can do is take mediocre photos."

"That'll have to do for now," Maeve acquiesced, smiling and putting down her diary to reach for Otis's guacamole. 

"I think…" Maeve reached for another cracker and dipped it into the bowl of guacamole. "I think I am in love with your guacamole."

"I'm sure the guacamole will be down to make stellar paintings of you," Otis said, grabbing for the bag of wotsits.

"I'm sure," Maeve dunked a crisp into the bowl of guacamole, finishing the entire bowl with a satisfied moan.

Over the next half an hour or so, the two sat in peaceful content, finishing the banquet laid out in front of them. The "devil's" food cake turned out to be surprisingly scrumptious, despite the burnt edges' chalky aftertaste. Otis's lemon bars were terrific, as usual, and by 15 minutes, the charcuterie board was empty as well. Maeve gave a satisfied sigh and laid down on the blanket, noticing the rushing river by her feet, sun tickling her nose, looking at the clouds above her. 

"Tired of writing, oh, wise one?" Otis questioned as he laid down beside her.

Maeve giggled and reached for Otis's hand, which she held across her stomach. "Nope, just happy."

"Well, I'm glad."

"Way to overstate the obvious, dickhead."

"Overstater of the obvious, great organizer of picnics, what can I say?" Otis bragged, mockingly.

"Also, very humble, may I add?"

"Oh always," Otis agreed.

"Look, look, that cloud looks like you!" Maeve pointed out a fluffy white cloud.

"Wait, where?" Otis exclaimed.

"Look over there!"

"I don't see the resemblance," Otis frowned.

"I don't know; I think the cloud looks quite like a dick to me," Maeve chuckled.

Otis sacked her shoulder, to which Maeve sacked his back, leading to a semi-play fight between the two, in which it ended with Otis tickling Maeve, which made the latter erupt in loud bursts of laughter. They laid there like that for a while, together, laughing and bathing in the sunshine. It took several cycles of laughter and repetition for them to collect themselves finally, but when they did, Otis asked, 

"Oh! Did you bring _The Moon is Always Female_? 

"Yeah, I have a couple of other books too. Why?" 

"I think you mentioned once that you'd like to read poetry and go on a picnic with me, so I thought we could go do that today?" Otis proposed shyly.

Maeve had to stop herself from letting out a big grin and bit her lips to keep it in, elated at the proposal. She'd never gone on such an eccentric date before, and she was immensely enjoying it. Unable to express herself, she nods and motions to get the books. She returns with _The Moon is Always Female_ and a few other novels she had in her bag that she carried everywhere. She laid back down next to Otis, this time resting her head on Otis's chest, her hair splayed across his torso. He wrapped his arms around her, and she began reciting her annotations, excitedly pointing out poems and chapters that she found intriguing, Otis intently listening to her analysis. The sun was bright; the river was rushing by, the blanket soft, Otis's warm smell all-encompassing, the smooth jazz from the record player in the background lovely, and for a minute, everything was perfect.

* * *

As Maeve recited her poetry to Otis, the sun was setting in the west, which caught her attention. Maeve never missed a sunset; they held a special significance to her. She shook Otis's hand and pointed towards its direction, urging him to get up and look at the sunset with her. They both got up and faced west, admiring the beauty of the colors presented by nature. After a minute, Otis jumped, scaring Maeve, and ran to the picnic basket, fishing out the second record that Maeve had spotted earlier. He quickly switched out the jazz playing on the record player and swapped it with this new record. He set the needle down and ran back to Maeve, 

"A dance, my lady," Otis asked as he offered her a hand. 

Maeve giggled and accepted, resting one hand on his shoulder as another one wrapped around her waist. The opening notes to _Le Festin,_ the theme from _Ratatouille,_ started playing, and Maeve couldn't help but giggle into Otis's shoulder.

"Are we really about to slow dance to a song about a rat becoming a chef?" Maeve questioned.

"Firstly, no _Ratatouille_ slander will be tolerated; secondly, I'll explain the significance after the dance. Shall we dance? _"_ Otis responded.

Maeve nodded, and they began, swaying under the sunset, the hopeful and sweet tune of _Le Festin,_ accompanying them in the background. They tripped over a couple of the rocks by the river, which elicited giggles from both of them, but they soon found each other back on track again. As the ending notes shrilled and the record scratched to an end. They both collapsed onto the blanket, leaning on each other, as the last of the sun's rays glowed to an end as well. After a few moments of peace and taking in the atmosphere's aura, Maeve broke the silence with her itching question about Otis's song choice.

"So, muppet, why did we dance to the opening themes of _Ratatouille_?" 

"Well, _Le Festin,_ the song we just danced to, means "the Feast" in French, which considering we just had one, I thought would set the mood."

"However, the song also talks about the hardships in life and the turmoil we go through. The latter half is a more hopeful tune, which sings for the hopeful times in life and has a feast to celebrate the good times we enjoy. I thought it was a good metaphor for our situation." Otis explained shyly.

Maeve nodded along, leaning into Otis's shoulder, a soft smile on her face, once again bewildered that the depths that this amateur sex therapist carried and how much thought he put into everything. She couldn't find much to say, so she went with, "You manage to make many things perfect." Her way of saying, "I love you."

"Really?" Otis jokes. "That's not helping my ego."

"You could probably do with a little bit of confidence, anyway." Maeve laughed.

They're interrupted by a buzz from Otis's phone, which he pulls out to check. He turns a bright red reading his message, and Maeve immediately notices and is at once intrigued.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's just Eric." Otis brushes off.

"Oh? What's he asking?"

"Nothing, just wondering how our forest-glade fantasy is going." Otis blurts. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes the grave mistake he has made. _Fuck_! How is he gonna get out of this one?

"Oh?" Maeve raises an eyebrow. "What forest-glade fantasy?" 

"Oh, no, it's nothing, don't worry about it." Otis quickly stated.

"No, no, please do tell." Maeve pressed.

Otis sighed. He was trapped. Better tell the truth than nothing, he figured; he was done lying to Maeve.

"Do you remember our first clinic session?"

"The one with Adam?" Maeve asked.

"No, no, not that one. Our first "official one."

"Mhmm"

"Yeah, that. Do you remember how I couldn't look you in the eye when we met up?"

"Yeah, yeah, you were acting a little stranger than usual that morning."

"Well, basically, the night before, I had my first wet dream." Maeve gasped.

"About you," Otis added meekly.

Maeve covered her face in shock, holding back part laughter and part intrigue.

"What was it about?" She questioned as inconspicuously as possible.

"Nothing, nothing." Otis blushed.

"Otis!"

"Fine, fine! I dreamt we were in the forest, you know the one by Aimee's house, and we were on a picnic, and we were having a good time, and then you stripped, and we kinda did it there." Otis whispered.

"So, kinda like today?" Maeve questioned innocently.

"Yes, no, what, no, definitely not!" Otis exclaimed, dumbstruck.

"Do you want me to strip Otis?" Maeve raised her eyebrows in a manner Otis would have loved to describe as flirtatiously.

"No, I think I'm fine. Just fine," he answered, his face a brighter shade than before.

"Okay, if you say so," Maeve moved closer to whisper into his ear, "I think I would have loved stripping for you." 

Otis jumps while Maeve watches, amused. She leans into him, resting on his shoulder, as the duo watch the last glimpses of the sun vanish. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the bouquet she'd seen earlier, wondering what they were for.

* * *

They're sitting on the bridge — the bridge of almost kisses and Nutella stained jumpers. Their legs dangle side-by-side against the matured, dusty pieces of oak that line the bridge. He had tried to wrap his storky legs into a fold. Still, after several unsuccessful drunken attempts and much amusement from Maeve's behalf, he had conceded to his legs, and instead, inserted them through the narrow slots of the bridge. They swayed with the breeze, and occasionally, he would grab their interlocked hands and swing them up and down as well. This elicited giggles, _yes giggles,_ from Maeve. The bridge was a spot of comfort for them now; they came here often to look at the stars, after hopping a bottle of tequila from Brown's. Maeve had suggested coming here after the sun had set, not entirely wanting to end her perfect day with Otis. They sat against the wood panels, hand in hand, legs touching, discussing everything and nothing. The future, Maeve's full-ride scholarship to Cambridge, universities, Otis's plans for uni, and videos of dogs getting stuck in doors (from Otis). The bouquet of flowers was still in his hand, and she'd noticed him carrying it the whole evening. Much to her entertainment, she had observed him building up the courage to hand them to her on their walk here, but each time he had faltered and nervously pushed them away. This earned a few smirks from Maeve, and deciding that the nervous dickhead was never going to build up the courage to hand them to her, she asked:

"Are those flowers for me?"

Otis smiles and fidgets with the bunch of flowers in his hand. "Yeah," he says shyly. "Yeah," he adds a few seconds later, with wavering confidence. He tentatively hands them over to her.

"There are so many colors on here it kinda looks like Eric's outfit." she jokes. It was true, to the eye, the bouquet looked like mismatched socks paired together, none of the flowers complementing each other. It was quite different from the bouquet he'd given her on the day of her abortion.

"Care to explain why it looks like a Picasso painting threw up on my bouquet?" she asks. She turns to look at him, but instead of meeting his eye, she sees him averting her gaze, seemingly finding something exciting in his nail bed. And, is he blushing? 

After a lengthy silence, she hears him murmur, "Well, each of the flowers means something." 

The silence ensues, and he continues after a few seconds, 

"The red roses symbolize love. Our love and I think it would be a nice touch from the bouquet I gave you the first time. The violet columbines represent wisdom and intelligence. They're often overlooked for their sister plants, the African violets. I personally think they represent you." 

He looks over at Maeve, meeting her brown eyes. He thinks they are watering, as he can see the faint glow and the bright moonlight glittering against them, reflecting little flecks of copper that he could get lost in. There are a thousand words he could say about them, like how when she's lost in books, they turn big and full, like a crystal orb. Or in the morning sunlight, they remind him of freshly turned earth in the rain, honey dripping from their sides. There are a thousand words he could say about them, but now he's interrupted by a soft squeak. Apparently, the squeak in question is something that Maeve is saying.

"How do they remind you of me?"

"Well, you are a columbine, Maeve. I mean, like I am not degrading you to a flower, and I'm certainly not objectifying you, I would never…"

Maeve leans over and shuts him up with a soft kiss. She releases and whispers, "You were saying something about columbines?"

"Right, so yeah, the columbines remind me of you. You're intelligent and smart, and so incredibly wise. And you're constantly underestimated and overlooked by everyone, but that doesn't stop you from growing. There's so much more to you than what meets the eye, just like the columbine."

His eyes wander over to Maeve, and she thinks that he's expecting her to say something. Still, his short speech has rendered her speechless, so she gently squeezes his thigh, urging him to continue. Thankfully, his dense head finally realizes the meaning, and he forgers on. 

"And then we come to the lupines. Lupines are special because they come in an abundance of different colors. They're multi-faceted, and if I'm honest, some of them have more characteristics than people at our school." 

They both share a chuckle, and Otis goes on. "I guess these mean that I love every side of you. I love blonde Maeve and brunette Maeve; I love scary Maeve and vulnerable Maeve. I love Maeve when she's a bitch, which is most of the time, and I love Maeve when she's failing to cook me omelets for breakfast. I love every side of you, and I'm so glad you trusted me with opening up to all your different quirks."

Maeve smiles and punches Otis in the shoulder, "You were pushing it there, for a second, dickhead."

"Which brings me to the sunflower and the king protea. The king protea is a symbol of courage. It is, in all notions, a symbol of you. Strong, beautiful, brave, each of the things that you encompass each day. Each and every one of the things you've taught me. Lastly, the sunflower. The sunflower was a joke of sorts, you know, because you're an absolute fucking ray of sunshine. And, as a whole, these mismatches of flowers portray us. By the books, we were never supposed to work. I was an anxious, lanky teenage sex therapist, and you were a rebellious, intelligent, social outcast. We're like each and every one of these flowers, a contradiction of personalities, but for some godforsaken reason, we work." 

Otis takes in a breath, and for a while, he doesn't look at Maeve. He is extremely embarrassed to find that his cheeks are turning a bright shade of red, and he prays that either Maeve is looking away or she can't see his face in the dim moonlight. It is, by far, one of the most personal things he has done for her. Even though he has confessed their love for each other, this, for some reason, feels personal on a different level. 

A few moments pass, a comfortable silence encompassing them both. Otis is turning a bit fearful and panicky from Maeve's quietness, but he wills himself not to show it. He is half scared that Maeve will get up and run, but she surprises him and instead pulls him closer and leans her forehead against his. The sudden intimacy shocks him, but her touch is calming, and he relaxes. They stay in that position until Maeve pulls him in for a kiss. The kiss is a juxtaposition of sorts; it feels like everything and nothing. It's slow with contentment but feels fast and passionate, a flurry of emotions coursing through both of them. When breathing becomes a necessity, they pull apart, leaning against one another, Otis's long arms around Maeve's shoulder. Softly, in the dark, she whispers the words she had struggled to say so far, "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favourite one-shot so far, after "A Place Where We Can Always Go." The ending is also mentioned in "Love Again" so check that story out if you haven't :) This one was a bit longer, so I hope it was more enjoyable. As usual, thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought! I hope you guys are safe and healthy!! :))


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